The Death of Grace

Earlier this year, my husband and I were supposed to go to a concert with a group of friends, but I happened to fall ill. We had paid for the tickets and scheduled a baby-sitter, so my husband was very bummed that we wouldn’t have a chance to at least spend some time together.

Despite feeling nauseous and light-headed, I told Grace, the sitter, that we would still be in need of her services. Although our date to Paradise Bakery, sharing a Southwest Chicken Caesar Salad, was short-lived, upon our return, our children were all smiles and inquired about Grace returning in the future. Apparently, she had taught them games and “all kinds of fun stuff”. We thanked and paid Grace.

We had planned on seeing Grace the following day, at church, as usual, but we did not. My youngest son was frantic after church, but I had no idea why. After some silence on our way home, I heard him whisper, “Mommy, I know where Aunty Grace is…”

“Aunty Grace died,” and at that very moment, he burst into inconsolable tears. The young woman who he had played with the night before and had assumed he would see the next day was nowhere to be found. Of course, in his little mind, it all made sense…I guess.

Panicking, his two siblings started asking what had happened to their beloved Aunty Grace. Each had his/her own question an scenario they started throwing out. What began and seemed “oh…how cute” became, “Oh my gosh…where did they come up with this? This is crazy!”

I tried several times to assure them that Aunty Grace was just fine. She was probably tired and at home, but Ezra repeatedly shouted through tears, “NO, MOMMY; tell us the truth! She died, and you don’t want to tell us the truth!”

Frantically, as I approached the freeway, I searched for my phone and attempted to call Grace in vain. I proceeded to try calling her two younger siblings, but I couldn’t reach them, until my second attempt, when I was able to reach her younger sister.

I quickly explained what was going on and asked where Grace was. Apparently, she had gone to Florida early that morning for an internship and had failed to mention she would be leaving so soon. Hearing the children in the background, she could tell they needed a proof of life. She promised to take the lead and keep trying to contact Grace.

When Grace was brought up to speed, she was told how important it was for her to speak to the children, especially Ezra.

Reluctantly, he reached out for the phone and heard Grace’s voice but became upset and returned it, stating, “That’s not Aunty Grace!”

After sending a photo of herself via text and sending voicemails, etc, he finally started coming around. He sat quietly, with the phone in his hands, all cried out, as he looked at her picture continuously.

Months later, I asked what had caused him to react that way, and he replied, “Mommy, we saw her on Saturday night, and on Sunday, she was gone from the stage. When people go away from us without telling us, it means they died. People should always tell you if you won’t see them for a long time, a really long time. I was just sad; it’s all.”

So now, every time Grace visits, she goes out of her way to let Ezra know that she’ll be leaving for a long period of time. She also ensures she sends pictures of herself from time-to-time, and she’s never too busy for a call from him.

This incident made me realize once more just how much children are hearing, listening, and absorbing information, whether or not they are able to process it. With two church members who had died just months before and an uncle in critical health, I could totally understand how he came to that conclusion. For weeks afterward, we made ourselves available for his random questions regarding death and the afterlife. Sometimes I still wonder at what particular point in time the leap to such a morbid conclusion occurred and what other strange things run through children’s minds in general. 

Time to Let Go of the Chaos

Over the last ten months, in an effort to get ourselves to a place of financial fitness, our family of five has been living with a close friend. Initially, it was very embarrassing to me. I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want anyone knowing much about it, because that’s an automatic judgment on us, especially my husband. I just didn’t want to explain it.

After a while, I realized we are doing what is best for our family, whether or not others understand it. It is just something that we need to do. Initially, it was supposed to be a six-month deal, but it was extended, in order for additional progress to be made.

The funny thing about it is that I’m learning so much about myself and being humbled quite a bit through this experience. I’m realizing I’m a bigger nag than I thought I was. I realize that almost any and everything annoys me. I realize how difficult of a person I am to live with, because I want everything just so. However, the space that my husband and I occupy is the most disorganized, disheveled looking room  of the five.

Every time I enter it, as dark as I am, I blush because I’m so embarrassed of the chaos it represents. My excuse for the longest time has been, ‘It’s so much smaller than our rooms in the past; I can’t work with it. There’s not enough space for all our stuff.” There has never been a time in the past that that has been an issue for me though, so it’s had me thinking. As individuals, we know someone out there whose life is chaotic, whose life is full of one issue after another, even though to everyone else who doesn’t know them quite so well, they are living the dream. One day, they’re “having a hard time”. Tomorrow, life’s got them by the balls. The next, they’re wondering why bad things always seem to happen to them. Nothing ever seems to get better; the clutter in their lives just increases. Their lives are in constant chaos, which just seems to increase.

The interesting thing is many people are fooled by the façade, just like in our situation. The kitchen is pretty clean, the living room is kept up as much as possible with three growing children, the restroom we use is regularly maintained, but our bedroom is another story. All we have to do is close the door. As long as the door is closed, everything is okay.

One step inside and I’m stressed just looking at it. How does an individual like me who is easily bothered by small, random things not in a state of urgency to get it all put in place? Why have I not said, ‘Look, I’ve had enough; I can work with what I’ve got”? I’ll be honest…I get to that place every week, but something else tends to be more important, to which I direct my attention. My reasoning is that it’ll take more time than I have to dedicate to it.

And that’s the problem with many of us. We don’t get fed up with the filth, clutter, chaos in our lives to have an honest conversation with ourselves, seek an organizer, someone we can trust, or who seemingly has it together. We just look at how ugly the situation has gotten and either give up or figure, ‘Hey, it’s my issue, my filth…I created it, and I’ll just deal with it.’

There’s often so much stuff on our plates, in our lives, but if we just take the time to analyze the stains in our carpet and find the perfect carpet cleaner for it, pick up one dirty sock at a time and put it in the hamper, or finally fold the clothes on the dresser and actually put them inside, things will start to look up. Sometimes, the dirty socks are bad influences we’re surrounded by but consider harmless. Other times, the stains are the issues we’ve hidden for so long they seem part and parcel of us. We just push the dresser and hamper over them, because as long as we and others don’t see them, we can pretend they don’t exist. The clean clothes all over the place may be good friends/relationships/influences we’ve tossed aside because they aren’t the coolest, or they keep us in check.

The weekend is here, so I for one will make it one of my top priorities to clean up the clutter I go to bed in and wake up to every morning. We can’t just be about the talk; it’s important to walk the walk. It’s time we get rid of the chaos, the dirt, and the mold, in whatever form they may be, in our lives. 

Another Angel Called Home

Last week, my husband and I received some horrible news, from Facebook nonetheless. One of the two pastors who married us almost ten years ago, and his wife, lost their only child, their 20-year-old son. I think as a mother, it has been a bit more difficult for me to deal with than my husband, even though he‘s known them longer and has had a closer relationship with them than me. I can’t even imagine the hurt and the pain. I can’t even imagine the struggle to come to grips with the fact that someone’s child is gone before he even got to truly live. Now he’s gone before his parents, their only child.

In some ways, I’ve been numb. I’ve been a bit standoffish. It’s given me a lot to think about. I’ve been questioning myself. Have I shown my children the love they need? Have I showered them with all the love and care that I can? Is what I’ve done enough? I question my parenting. I question almost everything I do now.

This young man lived, and he lived hard. He lived a life of passion, love, and dedication. He served with kindness and humility. I don’t think a parent could be any more proud and satisfied. However, to lose a child in that manner, or at all, after caring for and nurturing him all these years, would certainly be difficult.

It would be difficult to even think of what to write, think of what to say in order to console them. Silence is pretty much all I have to give. People who have asked what’s wrong seldom get an answer, because I’m just wondering how and why. Those with three and four and five children are out there not taking care of them, yet…Then I stop myself, I remember God knows best. He knows what we can handle. So his parents march on, continuing to smile, despite their pain and loss. They lift up, despite their heartache. He won’t give us more than we can bear. I see that now. Although this seems unbearable to me, God knew this is something they could handle, get through. I can imagine there are those nights they cry and hold themselves, asking “why”. From what I see, they’ll be just fine. How? I’m not sure, but I’m certain they have supernatural strength from above.

I’m not sure what I’d do. I don’t even want to imagine it. However, I implore everyone to love.

 Love like it’s your last day. Enjoy each moment as if it were your last. Reach out as if you’ll never have a second chance to do so. Live life full. Live life gladly. Live life boisterously. Live life with reverence. You never know when your last day will be.

Rest in peace, Jeffrey!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cty6O9A1PLM&sns=fb

You were their little flower, 

a lone rose amidst a garden full of dandelions, daffodils, and sunflowers.

You were their little ray of light.

A few days ago, you were plucked from the ground,

Much sooner than we thought ready.

Now, you have been transformed from their garden into the sky, 

As a star to shine as they look up above.

Who would have imagined? 

Who can even say it?

But He never gives us more than we can bear.

The heartache and sorrow, unimaginable, I’m sure.

The pain continues.

Day-by-day pictures of you and your smile surface, resulting in smiles and tears.

Those who knew you…those who loved you...no one can imagine. 

"Why him, Lord?" "Why us, Lord?"

But He knew on that stage, even before your little boy started on that stage over ten years ago,

that his time here would be short.

The clock was ticking; his time would soon be up. 

His father was given time with him.

He could have been with others, on  a mischievous adventure when this occurred,

But with his father he rode.

Love drove him.

Love watched him.

Love brought him to his knees.

Love engulfed him in that moment and beckoned him. 

He complied, although we humans call him dead.

Love beckoned him, and he said, “Good bye”.

Love promised him no more hurt, no more pain.

Love will send comfort that no man will understand.

Love will grow them.

Love will strengthen.

Only Love can see them through.

Day-by-day, it will be a struggle, 

But day-by-day, the strength and love needed, He will provide.

An angel now, his duty's completed, his purpose fulfilled.

As soldiers in the trenches, continue the legacy placed in your heart:  

Loving the orphans, bringing hope to the hurt and lost.

What once was one child becomes one thousand, as Love gives them the strength to carry on.